Page 25 of An Eye For Illusion

There’s only one way to find out.

Without another moment’s thought, I start my car, and slam it into drive. I turn and head through the exit and turn right out of the parking lot. I press hard on the gas, speeding down the road until I catch a glimpse of the gray sedan ahead of me.

Easing off the accelerator, I leave some distance between me and the unknown second tail. I don’t see Moore’s SUV ahead of them, and I wonder if he outmaneuvered them to get away.

Either way, I want to know who these guys are, and, more importantly, why they’re following Moore. I keep my distance, but I’m sure to keep their taillights in sight. It isn’t long before I start to recognize my surroundings. We’re headed towards the dive bar, Vinny’s spot.

The gray sedan turns into the parking lot, but I’m far enough back I can drive by and get a look at whoever gets out if they’re quick. I pass the parking lot and try to get a good look at the guys getting out, but it’s no use. Aside from the fact that one of them is unusually tall and slender, they look like two ordinary guys.

I drive a couple of more blocks, then loop back around after allowing them time to get inside. When I park—choosing a spot close enough to the door for a quick getaway if needed—I fish a baseball cap from my glove box and pull it down tight on my head. I need to go inside to see if I can get a better look.

I quickly snap a picture of the tag on the gray sedan as I pass by it. Maybe I can get a lead from the owner of the vehicle.

As I walk in, my eyes scan the room. I straighten my cap when I immediately recognize Vinny’s voice from the recording Donovan sent me earlier. He’s on my left as I walk through the door, sitting at his table.

I spot Donovan at the bar before he sees me. I walk up behind him, and, just as I go to place my hand on his shoulder, he turns his stool, facing me. He cuts his eyes around the room, making sure no one has noticed us.

“Colin,” he says with a nod and a sly grin. He tilts his head toward the barstool beside him before he turns back to face the bar.

“Donovan,” I reply in a hushed tone as I take a seat beside him.

He takes the shot of whiskey in front of him and tosses it back without making a face.

The bartender comes over, a different man than the one I talked to several nights ago. I don’t recognize this guy. I order a beer, and without a word, he pulls it from the mini-fridge, pops the cap off in the blink of an eye, and slides it over to me. His attention is on someone else as he mindlessly wipes the bar while his gaze is locked on Vinny’s table. I don’t turn to look, but whatever is going on has this bartender concerned.

“Nothing?” I ask Donovan under my breath without turning to look at him.

“Just chit chat since those two guys walked in.” He taps his glass on the bar top, signaling the bartender to bring him another. The bartender is there quickly, turning the whiskey bottle up to fill Donovan’s glass.

I sip my beer casually and glance at the TVs playing above the bar. Different sports games are on, but none of my teams. I look around, hoping a table will become available. Having our backs to Vinny and the guys is the worst vantage point.

“Those guys were tailing Moore,” I explain, taking another pull of my beer.

“Hm. Explains the, ‘We lost him boss,’ the tall, goofy-looking one said when they came in,” Donovan says.

I stifle a laugh. That explains my theory that Moore made them and shook the tail. Moore has turned out to be more competent than I first calculated, which means I may need a new way to go about this.

An idea brews. I don’t have much experience in the area, but the man sitting next to me does.

“What do you think Vinny’s deal is?” I ask to test the waters.

I have my suspicions and wonder if Donovan agrees with me. I keep my voice low. The bartender tends to customers at the far end of the bar away from us. Right now, it’s just the two of us down here.

Donovan drops his shoulder and chin. The movement ensures that his lips are from view. “I think he’s a mid-level drug runner. I just don’t know who he works for yet.” He furrows his eyebrows, like the question aggravates him. An itch that he can’t quite scratch.

“Hmmm, that’s exactly what I was thinking, too. But are we dealing with a local gang, or is this bigger than we think? I’m worried it’s bigger since they were able to pull in Moore. They would have to have a lot of money running through the city to entice someone of Moore’s status.”

He clears his throat and takes a sip of his whiskey, nodding at the TV like we’re talking about the game. I plaster on a smile and bang on the bar top just as a team on the screen scores. I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about the team, but we need it to look like we’re two friends out here, enjoying a drink and the game.

Donovan playfully groans, “Get your shit together, guys!”

After a few minutes, Donovan finally responds. “I think you’re probably right. We can’t discount that people do some pretty stupid shit when they’re desperate, and it looks like Moore is pretty damn desperate.”

“That’s my boys!” I holler out just as the team scores again.

“What the hell!” Donovan responds.

I shove his shoulder for good measure just as the game goes into half time.

---